


The Wild Night is Calling

by Fitzrove



Series: Seven Days to the Wolves [1]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: (mentioned in passing), Anal Sex, Bad Puns, Biting, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Episode: s01e04 Home, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Kissing, Scent Kink, Sloppy Seconds, Swingers, Voyeurism, Werewolf AU, Werewolf Strange, a little at the end lmao, kinda lol, outside of the full moon werewolves are just humans with Heightened Senses, so nothing gross here, that being morse/jakes, werewolf Morse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 23:03:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21044267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzrove/pseuds/Fitzrove
Summary: Peter Jakes is dating Morse, who is a werewolf. That means he has a boyfriend around 29 days a month and an almost human-sized ginger terrier dog on the one night a month that the full moon is blazing.One October night, friendly banter in bed goes a little further than usual, as do the wolf puns. Before Peter knows it, he's agreed to ask Jim Strange (who is also a werewolf, albeit one that's huge and dark and much more scary on moon-nights than ragged little Morse) to join them in the bedroom for some empirical research.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).

> This story has a similar premise (as far as werewolves go) and in-universe rules to my earlier werewolf fics and to those of jasmiinitee, but because of Reasons (mainly the porn, the shippiness and the timeline incompatibility) it's not part of the same literary canon.
> 
> Happy Spooktober, I hope y'all enjoy this!!

It was a cool night, really. Would’ve seemed and felt awfully black and blue and dim and gloomy, had Peter been working graveyard shift, trying not to shiver visibly when his well-pressed shirt and cutting-edge jacket (both literally and figuratively) failed him in the late rainy autumn that was slowly but surely creeping up on Oxford. It wasn’t the sort of chill that went bone-deep, not yet, but combined with the ever-darkening nights and increasing reports of attempts of violent assault from all across town, committed in the looming darkness, it could leave a man pretty shaken up if he let it get to him.

But, lucky bugger as he was, Peter _ wasn’t _at work right now, and he didn’t have to worry about all that. Instead, he was breathless, lying in bed with Morse’s hands in his hair, and he was about to say something very stupid.

“Morse, luv”, Peter breathed out. “You’re pretty good at this.”

Morse rolled his eyes, cheeks still beautifully flushed, the dim light of the pale, waning crescent moon falling on his chest and collarbones through the window-blinds. It made Peter hold his breath, just to make the moment last as long as he possibly could, but then his breath was properly taken away by Morse leaning in.

“I’d hope so”, Morse said softly. “Since you haven’t shut up about it all night.” 

There was a subtle bite behind the words, but the way Morse shifted in his arms and leaned in to nuzzle his neck was sort of contradictory. It made Peter smile, and when Morse pulled back to look up at him, it was very easy to pull the man in for a tired kiss.

“Seriously”, Peter said, when they’d parted, hand still on Morse’s cheek. “Didn’t think you’d be as good as you are, when I first met you, with how tight-strung you can be. But maybe it comes with the territory after all.”

“... and what’s that supposed to mean?” Morse asked. Peter grinned at him.

“Moon business”, Peter said. “Makes sense for you to be unexpectedly _ wild _in bed.”

Morse just stared at him for a second, cheeks too flushed to look outright horrified or blankly unappreciative, but he did groan and roll over to his back, to rub at his nose and forehead. Peter quirked a brow, pushing himself up to lean over him.

“Come on”, Peter said. “It’s not far-fetched. Not as outlandish as some of your theories, anyway.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s particularly _ smart_, Peter”, Morse muttered, just barely peeking at him from behind his fingers. Peter opened his mouth, about to retort, but Morse lifted his hand up to hold on to his cheek and brush a thumb over his bottom lip before Peter got the chance. It was nice enough, even if it was a bit odd.

“Would you like to tell Strange that tomorrow morning, or will you shut your mouth now?” Morse asked, tilting his head, all casual. Peter could swear he _ choked _a bit at that, and he had to gently grab Morse’s hand by the wrist to move it away.

“... what’s _ he _got to do with this?” Peter asked. Morse looked at him, deadpan.

“He’s every bit as much of a werewolf as I am”, Morse said. “Someone who didn’t know what they were talking about could even say that he’s _ more _of a traditional werewolf than me, since he wasn’t born with the condition.”

“I guess”, Peter said. “But what’s that got to do with -”

“What I’m really thinking about”, Morse interrupted, “is whether you’re really standing behind your argument or not. If you’re saying being good in bed comes with being a werewolf, then I’m pretty sure it would apply to Jim Strange, too.”

Oh _ Jesus_. Every time Peter thought he couldn’t get any deeper into some very interesting business with Morse, the bastard surprised him. He closed his eyes, trying not to gawk at Morse, but eventually, Peter had to face him properly again. It was embarrassing either way.

“I’m not - I didn’t mean - _ Morse_”, Peter whined, pulling him closer by the shoulders in a desperate attempt, if not to shake, then maybe squeeze some sense into him. Morse was unimpressed with that, pushing himself up on his side to keep a bit of a distance between them. Peter let out a disappointed huff when he didn’t get his way, but it was soon forgotten as Morse quirked an eyebrow.

“I mean, he must be pretty good”, Morse said. “He does go out with a girl or two every now and then. Gets second dates too, which is something some of us seem to have some trouble with.”

“Hey, Joan Thursday doesn’t count”, Peter muttered. She _didn’t _\- it wasn’t _his _fault that a perfectly nice night had been ruined by the girl’s _father_, who happened to be a certain Inspector Thursday, turning up. They just hadn’t got around to another, even though some curiosity was still there each time they ran into each other. (Peter still wasn’t sure if Joan knew he wasn’t a vampire.)

“If you say so”, Morse said, falling into smug silence after that. Peter resisted the temptation to roll his eyes, instead just rolling over to his back to stare at the ceiling.

It wasn’t like Jim Strange was particularly _ bad-looking _\- to the contrary, really. Not that it had ever come to that, but Peter wasn’t sure which one of them would’ve made the catch, if they’d happened to go after the same girl. And that was saying a lot - usually Peter could be pretty certain of his victory, trusting in his looks and well-managed hair and nice watch, and the fact that he knew what he wanted was pretty attractive to birds, too.

But maybe there was a certain charm to Jim, too. He had steady hands, Peter had noticed, and even though there had been a bit of a shady streak here and there, he was a trustworthy bloke. Genuine. Looked good in uniform and a suit alike, with his broad shoulders, and probably had a very nice chest underneath those, too.

“Bloody hell, Morse. Now you’ve made me think about Jim Strange”, Peter said, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. His cheeks were prickling, not with embarrassment or anger but something else entirely, and Morse didn’t have any sympathy for his desperate situation - the bastard _ scoffed_.

“You made yourself think about him”, Morse said, edging a bit closer to him to stare him down a bit more intently. “Not a surprise either, since you’re the one going on about werewolves all the time.”

“No, I’m not”, Peter said. “Film star gossip doesn’t count.”

Peter knew it was petty, but Morse _ had _ looked at him funny the time he’d mentioned he’d heard - or maybe read in a gossip magazine he’d picked up in the break room, he wasn’t sure - that some French starlet was actually a werewolf too. There was nothing wrong with expressing his appreciation for redheads in the same sentence, and even though it _ might’ve _ been a bit offensive to wonder if her moon-time fur was as red as her wild hair, it didn’t mean he had a _ thing _for werewolves. He didn’t. It was just a coincidence, with Morse, even though his monthly turning into a wolf (that seemed more like a big sad puppy at times) was the thing that had led to them awkwardly sharing a bed half-dressed the first time around.

“I’ve seen you stare, though”, Morse said. “It’s alright. Not like the WPC’s can help themselves either. And I know I wouldn’t mind kissing him.”

“Well, have you? Seeing as you know so much”, Peter asked, a bit snappish, but Morse had it coming for talking about _ that_. He liked the idea of Jim Strange going around stealing other people’s girls - or, in this case, blokes - even less than the idea of having those hands up the back of his shirt, pulling him in for a proper necking, those lips pressing against -

“No”, Morse said, and Peter sort of flinched at that. It was a bloody weird thing to do, but trying to explain would’ve been too mortifying. Morse raised an eyebrow, but put a hand on Peter’s cheek in apology. Then, after a brief time spent in thought, he leaned in to kiss Peter on his other cheek.

“But I bet you want to. And do a little more, too”, Morse said, mouth still lingering against his skin. Peter drew in a breath in shock, his face on fire, and the way Morse moved his lips and traced a path up to his ear before giving it a gentle nip _ didn’t help_.

“Morse”, Peter said, the words drying in his throat, closing his eyes against the prickly embarrassment. He didn’t want Morse to think he was some kind of - that he was going to act out the second he thought of something. He really cared about what happened, this time around, and he didn’t want to ruin anything between him and Morse.

Peter was about to apologise, to say he wasn’t being serious, when Morse pressed his lips against his ear again. Out came a whisper, sort of rough, sounding like it was just a chance thought, but also like Morse had been thinking about it for a while.

_ “I could watch.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little explanation on the title: This fic had the working title of “Peter’s wild night” for the longest time (yes, really), and I only just found out about the song Wild Night (by Van Morrison, 1971) today via Google :D I’m satisfied, thanks Van Morrison for making a song that fits my Peter Jakes vibes super well (and also fits the theme here lol)


	2. Chapter 2

Peter _ almost _ forgot the whole ordeal - the conversation, the _ embarrassment _ \- as his mind was taken over by ordinary days and only slightly hazy nights. His heart gave a little fluttery jump every bloody time Morse smiled at him, like it had done for a couple months already, and Morse didn’t remind him about that night, either. Not until one time at lunch, when it was just the two of them.

“Peter”, Morse said, as he walked over to him with their pints and sat opposite him. Peter nodded in thanks, but didn’t take the fag out of his mouth yet. He liked the way Morse’s eyes drifted down to his lips, as if he couldn’t help how bloody fascinated he was with the simple act of smoking. When Peter finally brought his fingers up, to get the chance to breathe out - making Morse pant internally didn’t always feel very good for Peter’s lungs - Morse’s eyes followed them instead.

“Aren’t you the watchdog today”, Peter said, for lack of anything better, making Morse scoff and roll his eyes. Then, he leaned closer, looking left and right to make sure nobody was listening.

The pub was actually pretty perfect for talking about classified information, even when it probably should’ve been kept to the office. Peter knew, however, that the look in Morse’s eyes meant that it wasn’t the case they were going to discuss.

“Speaking of those”, Morse said, very slowly and deliberately laying his hand over Peter’s - funny, since he wasn’t usually the clingy sort. Peter cocked an eyebrow and reached for his pint.

“Yeah?” Peter said, bringing it to his lips. Morse was staring again, but it was a different sort of stare, _ measuring_. Still a bit in awe, but not quite as out of it as he sometimes got.

“Jim agreed”, Morse said, and before Peter could actually process the words, he went on: “He said he’d be - and I quote - ‘happy to put that snotty bugger in his place’. If you’re up for it.”

Jesus Christ. Peter just barely managed not to knock over his pint at the surge of heat that ran from the back of his neck straight to his stomach, and Morse had the audacity to chuckle at him.

Peter knew he should’ve been offended, to be considered someone who made that sort of talk so _ easy_, but he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t, when the words themselves were… what they were, even when it was Morse who quoted them to him - or perhaps _ just because of that_. He’d already forgotten about it, had lived in blissful unawareness for a while already, but now everything he’d thought about that night came rushing back. He also found himself thinking about how Jim must’ve looked when he’d said that to Morse’s face.

Peter had to cross his legs under the table, pretty tightly too. Morse noticed, because of course he did.

“Uhm”, Peter said, for lack of anything better. Morse didn’t let go of his hand, fingers wrapping around his wrist now, to keep him firmly in place under his scrutinising, investigating gaze. Peter returned the challenging look, Morse’s baby blue eyes enough to hold his attention in any case, but Morse still didn’t relent.

“... are you getting off on that?” Morse asked, in a hushed voice, and Peter swallowed hard. “_ Really? _”

“Of course not”, Peter said through his teeth, even though Morse was letting go of his hand to shove his own under the table and put it on Peter’s knee, and at that point he’d definitely know for sure. Peter drew in a long breath, trying to think of Mr Bright in nothing but a loincloth or whatever it was that old people wore underneath their clothes, but Morse’s hand was enough to banish every last attempt and leave him scatter-brained.

“Right”, Morse said. “Shall I tell him tomorrow night? At yours. I don’t think you can go as high as a coloratura soprano, so my neighbours would be suspicious of the sounds.”

Peter nodded, and decided it was a pretty good idea to try to down as much of his beer as he could manage in one gulp. Morse was almost bloody _ smirking _at him, and that look had no right to be as tempting on his face as it was.


	3. Chapter 3

The night was rather dark by half past six already, not least because of the moon being nowhere to be seen. It was currently _ new_, as Morse had remarked to him when they’d walked the stairs up to Peter’s flat, which was a very different sort of moon-absence than when it was covered by clouds. A clear night with no moon felt more secure, in a way, but also darker, which usually didn’t leave people feeling particularly safe.

They’d had dinner, done the dishes, and were now curled up on the sofa with the television on. Peter didn’t want to admit he was nervous, but Morse could probably smell it right off him, because he was being less sharp and quick with his words than usual, instead just keeping Peter close and calmly responding to the poorly put-together attempts at conversation that Peter kept throwing at him.

“Maybe doesn’t like me”, Peter said. “For God’s sake, I wasn’t even sure he swung that way.”

“I’m pretty sure he knows you well enough to weigh his options”, Morse said. “And he’s… he’s an upright man, alright? Probably does treat his girlfriends very well. Unlike some people, who can’t keep their hands to themselves on a first date.”

A knock at the door rang out throughout the room, and Morse nudged at Peter to get him to answer it. 

“Good evening, matey”, said Jim Strange, who looked _ very out of place _standing at Peter’s doorstep, in his coat and shirt and tie like he was on some very official inquiry. If this was how it was going to be, Peter might’ve as well accepted it at face value.

“Wotcha”, Peter said, stepping out of the way to let Strange in. “I’m sure you’ve met our friend Morse.”

“Might’ve”, Strange said, and actually _ smiled just a little _ when Morse gave him a nod in acknowledgement. Peter wasn’t outright admitting that it was a _ nice _ smile, but it wasn’t _ terrible _either. “Good evening to you, too.”

“Uh, not to be rude, but how on earth did he get you to agree?” Peter said, taking Strange’s coat from him before the man had the chance to hang it up himself. It wasn’t anything personal - he just really liked his coat rack in a particular condition.

“He told me you were more than fairly… interested, which was flattering”, Strange said, not taking his eyes off Peter, “and reminded me that I haven’t got laid in a while, which is true.”

Peter felt a blush creep up his cheeks, but couldn’t get a word out of his mouth. Eventually, he swallowed, and after the gulp he could finally try to speak again.

“... okay”, Peter said. Strange shrugged, eyeing Peter up and down, before gently patting him on the shoulder and turning to look at Morse.

“So”, Strange began, very _ cool _ about it, at least compared to how Peter wanted to both laugh hysterically and start spouting vaguely bitter nonsense at everybody in the room, just because he was so _ nervous_, “what’s the plan?”

Peter opened his mouth, but no words came out, just a hiss.

“I was thinking I could warm him up a bit”, Morse said, very unlike himself with how quick he was with his words. Peter raised an eyebrow.

“In any case, I’m going to need a drink first, matey”, Strange said. Morse nodded at the whisky he’d taken out of Peter’s liquor cabinet earlier that night, as if it belonged as much to him as to the rightful owner of the flat. (It did, at this point, since Peter really bought that particular brand just for Morse anyway. He was just being pedantic about it because he liked to be.)

“That’s a bit rude, isn’t it”, Peter said, voice sharp. He was actually a bit offended, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. Morse glanced at him, brows furrowed, and Strange looked almost startled at that. (Or maybe it was wishful thinking on Peter’s part.) It was one of the perks of having a face like Peter’s - when he really meant something, people usually caught on. They simply stared at each other in tense silence for a second before something seemed to click in Strange’s head.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that”, Strange said. “Honestly, Pete. This is just a bloody weird situation in general.”

Alright, maybe it really was. Peter couldn’t say that he was doubting his earlier choices - he could _ still remember _ how impossibly deep under his skin Morse’s dry teasing had got that one night, and it was a bit troubling, to be honest. But the situation _ was _very much outside of what they usually faced in their day-to-day life.

Morse walked up to him, briefly pressing his lips against Peter’s ear. If watching it felt awkward to Jim, he didn’t show it, even as Peter made a point of smirking at him.

“Peter. Bedroom”, Morse said quietly, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world, and grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

Peter let Morse pull him along, but didn’t stop staring at Jim. Jim simply raised an eyebrow.

“You’re the one with the _ strange _name”, Peter said, shooting a pretty mean look at Jim, knowing it was petty the moment the words left his mouth. Morse let out a poorly stifled cough, or maybe it was a laugh, and his smile made it hard for Peter to keep up his pouting. Strange just shook his head, swirling the drink in his glass a bit as he followed them to the bedroom.

“Whatever, matey”, Strange said. “But it’s _ Jim_, in present company. I think you should get used to calling me that before you jump in the sheets with me. Just on principle.”

“Fair enough”, Peter said, resisting the temptation to add ‘_ Jimmy-James _’ after that, just because he knew he really shouldn’t have been mouthing off like that to a man twice his size.

Jim had nice arms. Peter could make up his mind on that much - they were the kind Peter sometimes found himself wishing people wouldn’t be such bloody prudes about and actually rolled their sleeves up at work, like he sometimes did himself. _ Someone _had to set an example, after all.

There was something very different about Jim out of uniform, though, sort of ordinary but also more _ night-bound_, in a way. Equally as alert and aware as he was on-duty, but without the uniform to pin him down as an altogether upright servant of Her Majesty, all that strength was _ free_. Peter knew Jim was still firmly in control, seemed awfully calm and collected even when it seemed like things were rapidly getting out of hand when they were out on a case, but he’d _ seen _ what he could do when he really needed to. It added a low, dangerous thrill to everything, leaving Peter watching Jim’s every movement, and Peter wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it.

Peter must’ve looked pretty dazed, because Morse decided to grab his attention by outright pushing him into bed and climbing in after him. He didn't hesitate to just shove Peter down and climb all over him to kiss him. Peter hadn't expected him to be _ that _ enthusiastic right off the bat, but it wasn't like he was going to complain. When Morse's lips met his, soft and warm enough to have Peter _ melting_, he couldn't really do anything but kiss back sharply, a desperate contrast to Morse's unhurried gentleness. Peter pushed himself up to lean against the headboard after that, to put up even more of a fight just for the sake of it.

“Stay still”, Morse muttered, yanking at Peter’s collar. Peter gasped at the sudden tug, and the gentle pressure on his throat when Morse’s mouth followed his fingers. It felt very _ natural_, falling into a snog with Morse, but he did also feel Jim’s eyes on him. It might’ve been based on reality, might also not have been, but the feeling lingered all the same.

He couldn’t help the sound that escaped his lips when Morse first bit him, a sharp jab on his shoulder. It made him tense up against Morse, put his hands on Morse’s chest to cling to his shirt, and the way Morse shushed him and smiled before pressing a kiss on his jaw made him _ blush_.

“Jim”, Morse said, stroking the back of Peter’s neck in a way that sent an electric shiver rushing down his spine even as Morse turned to look away from him. “Come here, would you?”

Peter drew in a shuddering breath, and turned his head just in time to see Jim chugging down the last of his drink.

“Probably better for you to take over now, before… well”, Morse said, a bit sheepish. Peter tried to think of something snappy to say to that - that _ he _could handle himself alright, even if Morse was already having trouble, but unfortunately Morse’s hand was drifting down his thigh, and Peter couldn’t exactly say he was unbothered by it.

Jim looked at them in almost disbelieving silence, probably more than a bit flabbergasted that he’d actually agreed to what they were about to do, but ended up simply raising his eyebrows, shaking his head and chuckling as he set his glass down on the side table.

“Alright”, Jim said, and Peter _ still _couldn’t believe what was going on when the mattress dipped and shifted as Morse scrambled to get up and made room for Jim to sit down.

Morse put his hands on Peter’s chest one more time, only to push him into Jim’s arms. Peter’s eyes widened as his back hit a solid chest, and Jim slid his hands down to hold on to his waist. He leaned forward, to almost hover over Peter as he held him, and Peter had to bite his lip when he felt Jim’s lips almost brush his ear.

“I hope Morse’s not the only man you’ve been in bed with so far”, Jim said, very quiet, but his tone bloody _ incriminating _enough to have Peter’s face burning. Peter swallowed, lips still tingling from Morse’s rough treatment, his throat dry.

“No”, Peter said. “Of course not. I’m not a bloody virgin.”

That came out louder than he intended, and Morse shot him an amused glance from where he’d sat down, in the chair where Jim had previously been.

“And yet you’re acting like one”, Morse said, leaning back in the chair. “If you want tips, I’d suggest finally kissing him.”

Peter grabbed at Jim’s arms to get him to let go, and the man did, with a scoff at Peter’s sudden insistence. Jim also let Peter grab onto his shoulders, although he seemed very adamant about not letting him drag him about any way he wanted. Very unlike Morse, who very much liked to give in when he’d had enough of Peter’s teasing, but it wasn’t like the way Jim was acting didn’t have Peter’s heart beating faster.

“About time”, Jim said, when they were face to face. Peter simply stared at him, with his mouth open, suddenly at a bit of a loss at what to do.

But Peter was a man, goddamnit, and not a coward. If proving himself meant giving Morse a proper show, making out with Jim Strange, then so be it.

He lunged forward, but Jim had fast reflexes, and managed to hook an arm around Peter’s back and lower him down on the bed even as Peter pressed their lips together. It made his stomach drop, like he’d suddenly fallen from much higher than he actually had, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of Jim’s chest pressing down on his, and the way the kiss was suddenly deeper, with Peter grabbing onto Jim’s hair and twisting his fingers in it, to have him remember Peter was letting him get that close for a _ reason_.

Jim was considerably less frantic about it, but that was probably what made him such a bloody good kisser. Peter didn’t want to breathe, just because that meant he’d need to stop, but he did manage to get in a few inhales through his nose. He smelled Jim, all over, clean linens and shepherd’s pie and the whisky and something heady that had Peter starving for more.

He fit into Jim’s arms embarrassingly well. That was the topmost thought in Peter’s head when he finally pulled back to breathe properly, but couldn’t get too far, because Jim had a hand behind his shoulder blade and another at the small of his back, and Peter didn’t want to let go of the bugger’s hair, either. Jim had other plans, however - he untangled himself from Peter the best he could, despite the huff he let out in protest, and gently grabbed Peter’s wrist to get it on his shoulder instead, to pull him up and get him to lean against the headboard for a moment. Peter was too dizzy to do much else, especially since he made the mistake of turning his head to look at Morse, still gasping for breath, and realising the bastard was staring right at him, lips pressed together, trousers rumpled.

“Let’s get you out of that shirt, alright?” Jim said, and Peter managed to break out of his haze and look at Jim again.

“You first”, Peter almost snarled, even though his lungs almost failed him, what with the air he wasn’t managing to suck in even as he tried to take deep breaths. It was hard, because Peter _ knew _ Morse was staring at his heaving chest, looking and thinking and _ wondering_, and he could almost _ feel _how Jim’s eyes kept skirting over and around his lips and cheeks, probably very red already.

He tried to ignore it all the best he could, going for the collar of Jim’s shirt instead. Peter was pretty good at getting clothes off, actually really prided himself in it, and therefore it should’ve been a quick and easy feat. Somehow, it still _ wasn’t_, his fingers trembling in their hurry, and Peter let out an annoyed grunt at not getting the second button from the top open as swiftly as he had the first one. He resorted to tugging on the fabric, past caring whether he _ ripped _ it off or not, just about to bloody tear the shirt off Jim before he was stopped by a calm warm hand on his forearm. Jim wasn’t quite _ squeezing_, but he was holding on, and Peter got the message despite how annoyed he was by it.

“Peter”, Jim said, firm but patient, looking down at him with a hint of amusement on his face. Peter blinked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s a perfectly good shirt. Don’t tear it apart.”

“He does that sometimes”, Morse said, and Peter really wish he would’ve shut his goddamn mouth. Morse was leaning back in his chair, a half-full glass of whisky in hand - probably Jim’s glass, he didn’t seem to care too much - and looked like he was very much enjoying looking at him. _ Licked his lips_, the bloody bastard, and probably thought it was subtle.

“You’re one to talk”, Peter snapped. “As if you’ve never -”

“Peter, love. Just let Jim take it off. _ For me _ ”, Morse said, the look in his eyes suddenly a bit sharper. It sent a rush of warmth down Peter’s stomach - it seemed they were finally getting down to _ business_.

Peter let out a frustrated sigh, raising his arms in order to let Jim grab the hem of his shirt and pull it off. The sudden _ bareness _ in the face of how terribly hot Jim was made Peter's ears burn, and it definitely didn't make things _ easier _when Jim put a hand on his waist again.

"Jim", Morse said, and Peter turned to look, mouth hanging open at the whole bloody situation. Jim did too, raising an eyebrow but not letting go of Peter.

Morse’s hair wasn’t _ quite _clinging to his forehead, but it was decidedly more messed up than usual. The look in his eyes was warm, but there was some steely glint underneath, curious and insistent, as if he wasn’t quite able to put his finger on something. Peter really wished he’d had the chance to unravel that thought properly, to tell Morse he needn’t worry his pretty little head about anything when everything was going to be perfectly alright if he just kissed Peter.

"Hand me his shirt, will you", Morse said, not explaining himself any further, and there it was again, the stubborn look in his eyes. Jim looked puzzled for a moment, but still proceeded to grab Peter’s shirt and push himself up to hand it to Morse.

"Here you go", Jim said. Peter was about to quip out something - about time Morse started neatly folding shirts instead of tossing them around haphazardly, actually pretty impressive, but why _ now _ \- but he was stopped when he realised Morse was pressing the shirt against his nose and mouth and breathing it in, calm and deep.

It was unbelievably erotic, to see Morse's eyes flutter shut as he took in the scent, _ Peter's scent _ from where the collar had rested against his neck, probably mixed in with faint traces of cologne and cigarettes and the crisp autumn air. Morse seemed to be blushing an even deeper red, as he leaned back in his chair and breathed deep, and it did absolutely _ nothing _to ease how Peter was straining against the confines of his trousers.

"Jesus", Peter choked out. "That really doing it for you?"

Morse slowly opened his eyes, and they were both light and dark, the sky-blue a sharp contrast against how red his face still was. Peter's breath stuttered, but he didn't have time to say anything before Jim had wrapped his arms around him again.

"Petey, I'm right here", Jim said. "Behave yourself."

"Make me", Peter said, and he'd barely got the words out before he was being swept off-balance and laid down again, manhandled like a bloody Bond girl. It was absolutely mortifying, mostly because he was _ enjoying it_.

“Peter. I’ve got a deal for you”, Jim said, hand on his bare chest, stroking up and down, as if he was genuinely curious to find out what Peter tucked away beneath his suits. The shoulder-padding _ wasn’t _ compensating for anything, thank you very much, it was called being _ fashionable_. Luckily, Jim seemed not to mind, and Peter _ hoped _that the hard-to-read look in his eyes was appreciative.

“Do tell. Been waiting long enough", Peter said, trying to keep his voice from wavering as Jim’s fingers passed over a nipple. He succeeded, and managed to put a sufficiently cocky smile on his face as well, even as Jim leaned closer for his next words.

“Will you shut your face if I shag you now?” Jim asked, and Peter had to close his eyes as a wave of embarrassment and deep desire ran him over like a breakdown lorry.

“You’ll have to find out”, Peter said, tilting his head. Jim leaned in to give him a sharp kiss, one that could've bruised if only he wasn't being so frustratingly tender. Peter was left shocked at how _ good _it felt.

"Take your trousers off", Jim said. "Pants, too. Sharpish."

Jim got off him and went to take off his shirt. Peter was mesmerised for a moment, but then sprung into action, hands almost trembling as he undid his belt and pulled his trousers down, kicking them off the bed in a hurry. He couldn’t resist palming himself through his briefs and then some, sneaking a hand around his stiff cock after he’d finally managed to strip himself bare, but just as he was about to give himself a good tug and relieve _ some _of the ache deep down in his stomach, there was a hand around his wrist.

“You sure you’d like to stay on your back?” Jim asked, calmly pulling Peter’s hand away. Peter pursed his lips, letting out a displeased grunt, but Jim acted as if paying attention to that was below him.

“Why, afraid you’ll chicken out if you have to look me in the eye?” Peter shot back, yanking his hand free to lie back again, to show Jim he was still on top of the situation, that he knew how power worked and could wield it even when he was coming undone like this, with Morse smirking at him from his spot in the chair and Jim bloody Strange leaning over him, more than a few hairs out of place, face less red than Peter’s was but blazing all the same.

“Not really”, Jim said. “You’re looking just pretty enough, laid there like that.”

And there it was again, the feeling Peter couldn’t quite describe. He was about to sleep with Jim Strange, who thought he was _ pretty_, and who seemed to have no second thoughts whatsoever about shagging him.

“Pretty?” Peter barked out. “What’s _ that _ supposed to mean?”

Jim thought for a moment, eyes falling to Peter’s lips, then avoiding his gaze more obviously.

“I don’t know”, Jim said. “I think I’m a little tipsy right now. Mind you, that’s what I’ve been going for, but… I don’t know. Just don’t listen to everything I say with such a keen ear. Alright?”

Peter wasn’t convinced, and he was about to let Jim know, but he couldn’t get his mouth open before there was a slightly misguided pat on his cheek.

“Be a good boy”, Jim said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Jim ran a hand down Peter’s thigh, then back up again, before looking at him with a slightly puzzled expression. Peter couldn’t do anything but stare back, breath laboured because of the shock _ and _the touch, Jim’s hand heavy and confident on his skin.

“Jim. You’ll need this”, Morse said, suddenly considerably closer than he’d previously been. Peter looked up, and realised he was standing next to them, breathless and flustered. He was holding a jar of Vaseline.

Before either of them could get a response out, Morse had spoken again.

“Give me your hand”, Morse said. “Please.”

Jim did, and Morse rolled the top of the jar open with practiced ease, scooping up a generous amount on his fingers and wiping it on Jim’s. Jim didn’t look _ terribly _ bothered by it, but Peter sort of was, since he’d never thought the sight of Morse and Jim practically working together to open him up would be _ so bloody hot_.

“Do it again”, Peter said, as Jim kneeled between his thighs, one hand sliding up to grab a hold of his arse, the other resting against his inner thigh for a moment before Jim just pushed a finger in, making Peter gasp. It wasn’t painful or uncomfortable at this point, just a bit sudden.

“Do what?” Jim asked, slowly circling his finger, before adding another. That was a bit harder to take, and Peter needed a second to adjust to the feeling, just looking up at Jim and trying to breathe without having it come in shallow gasps, both at the anticipation and the sheer oddness of the whole situation.

“Tell me I’m a good boy”, Peter managed to choke out. It was hard to be particularly ashamed about it at this point, so it was easier to just order Jim around and expect him to do as he was told, even when Peter’s request was something like this.

“We’ll see, matey”, Jim said. “You’ll need to act like it, too.”

Peter frowned at that, but didn’t have time to brood over his predicament for long. Jim drew his fingers out, and Peter didn’t need to be told twice to spread his legs. The reality of the situation didn’t hit him before Jim climbed on top of him, settling between his thighs.

“Relax, Peter”, Jim said, and as Peter nodded, he thrust in.

Jim was _ big_, or at least it felt like it, and Peter realised he hadn’t really relaxed in the slightest, instead clamping his legs against Jim’s sides to make sure he didn’t go anywhere. He had to draw in a couple of deep breaths, and Jim waited, leaning down.

“There”, Jim said, hand brushing against Peter’s cheek again. “That’s a good boy.”

Peter tried to say something - probably ‘_ move, you prick _’ - but what came out was an embarrassingly relieved laugh. Flattered, even. Bloody fucking hell.

Jim leaned in to kiss him, and as he did, Peter opened his mouth and let himself be pressed down against the mattress. After one more second of blissful agony, there was a gentle bite to his bottom lip, and Jim finally started moving.

Peter tried to keep his mouth shut as he clung to Jim's arms and lost himself in the warmth, but no matter how determined he was not to gasp out loud, it still happened. First it was just that, a gasp and a sigh as Jim pushed particularly deep, leaving Peter's thighs aching but his heart beating so deliciously loud that he didn't really mind.

Next, it was an actual moan, when Jim went to kiss him again, pinning him to the spot like Peter was meant to be there all along, his body seamlessly pressing against Jim's, his mouth dry and his prick throbbing at every shove and pull and drag.

He couldn't think, because he had a cock in him, he had firm wide unrelenting prick moving inside him and a warm mouth on his neck and it felt so good he had to cry out loud.

"Morse", Peter whimpered. "Jesus Christ."

"No", Jim said. "Peter. That's not it."

"_ Morse _", Peter insisted, not bothering to open his eyes, just to get back at Jim for God-knew-what, and maybe also because he was thinking of Morse's pouty lips and unsure smile and how his hair looked when you messed it up properly. He regretted it when there was a sudden halt, then a twinge of pain on his shoulder that left his eyes wide open, grasping for something to cling to and finding Jim's back just in time, raking his nails down it as he drew in a pained breath.

"You had it coming", Jim muttered, after a brief kiss on the same spot had left Peter sort-of-comforted, but still shaky at how terrible it was to be left helpless like that, with everything on the cusp and brink and a knife's edge. "You could pay a little attention to who you're with, matey. Even if you are a bit of a tart."

"Please", Peter whispered, trying to look up through his scorching blush with wide eyes, his hands finding their way to the back of Jim's neck, as sly and gentle as he knew he could be when he really wanted to. It turned out a little more clumsy than he'd planned.

"Not enough", Jim said. "Come on. I know you've got it in you."

"... _ Jim _", Peter said, barely opening his mouth, but the word was loud enough for him to hope that his walls were thick enough not to let anything through. Bloody fucking hell.

He didn't want to wait for a response, because clearly, his name alone wasn't enough for Jim bloody Strange.

"For Christ's sake", Peter snapped, shoving his hips up, making _ Jim _ gasp in turn, before he managed to support himself again, putting his hand on Peter's chest to hold him down. "Jim. Fuck my bloody brains out, will you? You were off to a start alread-"

Peter very much would've finished that sentence, had Jim not flashed him a crooked smile. It was more wicked than a lot of things he'd ever seen from the man, honestly, a little _ scary _ when combined with the fact that Jim could've probably hoisted Peter up by his hips if he'd really wanted to and fucked him against the wall until he cried of exhaustion.

And then it was too hard to hold any sort of solid thought in his head, because Jim was moving properly again, and Peter's legs felt like jelly. He couldn't hold back the raspy moans anymore, and Morse might've very well been wanking it to just how he sounded, because Peter would've done so if it had been Morse in his place.

If he hadn’t already been crazy for it before, he certainly was now, the whole bloody universe confined to Jim's chest pressed against his, his hand on Peter's chest, his breath warm on Peter's neck as he held him still to bugger him more thoroughly than he’d probably ever been.

Peter's heart was beating like crazy, his sweaty hands slipping down Jim’s arms, and he was so well-pinned against the mattress that he just barely managed to turn his head and look at Morse through the shaky breaths he was drawing in, from under Jim's relentless rhythm. He didn’t catch anything but a glimpse of a very red face, Morse’s nose and mouth still pressed against Peter’s shirt, and soon had to close his eyes again at how terribly _ much _ he was feeling. Christ.

“Peter”, Jim said, with some trouble through his laboured breathing. Peter was almost too out of it to realise he was talking to him - the voice came from somewhere far away, another dimension where the world wasn’t only skin sliding against skin and the heated air in the room and Peter biting his lip not to scream as there was another jolt of pleasure deep in his stomach.

“Petey", Jim repeated, still patient, but the word a bit more rushed. “I’m not going to last much longer. Do you want me to -”

“You’re not going anywhere”, Peter cried out, pulling Jim closer to get his face pressed down against his, to open his mouth and give the man a proper kiss. Jim obliged, lips firm, but wouldn’t let Peter lick at him, the bloody _ bastard_, pulling away before Peter could make it deep enough.

“Alright, matey”, Jim said, right in his ear, and his wet hot breath made Peter shiver. “_Alright_.”

A harder, sharper, shorter thrust, practically pressing Peter down by his hips alone. Another, making every single muscle in his body tighten up, his thighs bloody shaking, but he didn’t have time to beg for one more and let everything come free, because Jim was gripping his sides and shoving himself home and just the bloody look on his face when he finished should’ve been _ illegal_.

The slow churn of Jim’s hips against his that followed was frustrating, probably more so than anything else that had happened that night had been. Peter let out a whimper, pulling Jim closer by his back and shoulders, and furiously shoved his hips up, once, twice. It was hard to move particularly well when Jim was still pressing him down, looking down at him with his eyes half-closed and his hand travelling up to Peter's hair, but Peter _ tried_, and the slide of his cock against Jim's sweat-slick skin and the searingly perfect stretch of Jim's prick inside him ended up being enough to get him off.

His heart was beating in his throat, Jim holding him close was somehow _ reassuring_, and he was out of his mind at how good everything felt. It drew a shuddering cry out of him, loud and indecent, and Jim leaned down to whisper something in his ear.

"There you go, Petey, well done", he said, and mumbled something else too, but Peter wasn't coherent enough to understand the rest. It still felt and sounded so gentle that it made him give Jim a tired smile before he went on gasping for air.

He felt so sore and warm and _ good _ that he barely felt it when Jim pulled out, except on his chest, when suddenly he didn't have sweaty skin and firm muscle underneath pressing down on him anymore. Peter let out a sigh, almost wishing he'd had the energy to pull Jim back in for _ something_, a kiss or a cuddle or just a plain old arse-grab. But he didn't, and he actually had to close his eyes to at least attempt to catch his breath.

Peter could feel the buzz of heat through his veins as his heart did its best to keep up with him, leaving him lying there, sweaty and boneless. Opening his eyes seemed like too much of a bother when he already knew he wouldn’t be able to fathom what he was looking at, so Peter didn’t.

It was also more than a bit embarrassing, to be honest. He hadn’t thought he’d get a ride like that with Jim bloody Strange, but apparently, he should’ve. Probably wouldn’t have made his life any easier if he’d realised it before, since having to work with Morse without constantly wanting to put his hands on him was already hard enough.

“Matey?” Jim said, and there was a careful hand on his cheek. “You alright?”

“Mhm”, Peter mumbled, trying to blink his eyes open, but only managing a half-closed, tired stare. He heard Morse huff, and he had no idea what sort of opinion that was meant to express.

“Peter”, Jim said, lightly patting his cheek. “You need to say something. Words, I mean. I’d like to know you’re still alive.”

“Yes”, Peter snapped, tempted to rebelliously turn his back to Jim as if he was rolling over to sleep. He ended up deciding against it when he realised his whole body felt like it had the consistency of wet macaroni. Or well-kneaded pie dough, or something. “I’m good.”

“In that case, I’m going to have to bum a smoke off you“, Jim said. “That alright too?”

“Yeah”, Peter said. For once in his life, the thought of having to juggle smoking and the way he kept having to consciously slow down his breathing seemed like too much to handle, so he didn’t ask Jim to light him one as well.

Peter kept his eyes closed for a while, just because the hazy light of the room seemed like a little too _ much _ at the moment. He didn’t bother to open his eyes when he heard the click of a lighter, and was even less concerned when he heard Morse mumble something. As long as he knew the bastard was still conscious after witnessing something like that, he was fine. It was reassuring, in a way.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Jim asked, not really from Peter. “I might’ve been a little rough. I don’t want him to think that -”

“No, no”, Morse said, and Peter could almost hear the hand-wave. He didn’t know whether he should be offended over it or not. “You went gentle enough. He’ll be fine.”

Peter blinked his eyes open, unable to resist the opportunity to share a delightfully dirty detail or two about him and Morse with Jim, just to see his face when he heard, but when he finally managed to do that, Jim had got up and left the room.

“He’s washing up”, Morse said, still leaning back in the chair, looking at Peter through lowered lashes. “Doesn’t want to go home smelling like you.”

Peter shrugged, and after a while spent in thought, turned his eyes to Morse again.

“His loss”, Peter said, raising a brow. Morse tilted his head as if sizing Peter up, before leaning back again and crossing his arms.

“Well, I wouldn’t either”, Morse announced. “No offence, but -”

“But you’re a liar”, Peter said. He smirked as the accusation hit its mark - it was nice to see that he could get Morse flustered up like that, even when Peter was lying in a messy bed, utterly wrecked and too tired to get up.

“I bet your landlady wonders why you rarely smell of perfume these days when getting back in for the night. Must be because you don’t wear any.”

Morse opened his mouth, about to argue, but Jim came back, towel around his waist. Peter didn’t even bother to hide his ogling anymore, instead letting his gaze brush up Jim’s legs (and check out his chest too) before finally settling on staring at those goddamned arms again.

“Sorry, matey, I should’ve probably asked first”, Jim said, as he sat down to finish drying off, beyond caring about dripping water on Peter’s bed. Fair enough, but Peter _ still _ wished there’d been some more common courtesy displayed in _ his flat_. Even if the master of the house was in a rather compromised state right now.

“But you’re probably doing laundry soon anyway, Pete. At least I _ hope _you are”, Jim added, starting to very practically look for his clothes that were scattered about the room. It got a lot easier after Morse pointed him in the right direction. Truly breathtaking police teamwork right there, even if Peter said so himself. The pride and joy of the CID, those two.

“Yeah, yeah. Calm down. You’re not my mum”, Peter said. Jim just scoffed, sitting on the edge of the bed again after having gathered his clothes the best he could.

Jim made impressively quick work of getting his clothes back on, and for a moment, Peter actually wondered whether he was actually way more of a flirt and a charmer than he usually seemed. Might’ve been, might not have been. He certainly wasn’t going to _ ask _ Jim about it.

“At least kiss me, will you? You owe me that much”, Peter said before any of them had enough time to think of a sufficiently politte awkward goodbye. He barely bothered to push himself up to lean against the pillows, blanket half-covering his legs but not much else. He was starting to get a little cold, even though he was still sweaty, and there was really only one possible fix for that. And it didn’t involve putting clothes on.

“Never get enough, do you?” Jim muttered, but came over and sat down on the edge of the bed. Peter stared at him, eyes wide in mock innocence, and when Jim finally put a hand on his cheek and kissed him, it took the air out of his lungs. It was more tired than passionate, on Jim’s part, but Peter wasn’t shy about taking advantage of how gentle Jim was being with him.

“Think that’s enough for tonight”, Jim said, when he gently pushed Peter away, and turned to look at Morse. “For me, at least. If you fancy a go at him, matey, I’d reckon it’d be pretty easy at this point.”

Peter gritted his teeth and tried to fight the deep blush that wanted to paint up his ears, but it wasn’t easy. In fact, it proved to be impossibly hard, especially when his eyes met Morse’s. The darkest intensity had passed, now that they’d all got a chance to breathe, but there was something behind that look that was very far from formal, polite, borderline timid Morse that Peter sometimes got to witness. Morse was keeping up walls right now, alright, _ restraining _ himself for one reason or another, but that was the way he was sometimes. There was still something that screamed of danger, a trace of the steely blue that flashed in Morse’s eyes when he was determined to get his point across, usually to a somewhat scatterbrained listener. It was _ confidence_, and Peter _ liked it_.

“Sure”, Morse said, sitting up in his chair more properly than he had in a while. “Thanks for com… turning up. We do appreciate it. Peter already let you know as much, but I do too.”

“Glad to hear”, Jim said, his tone still a bit dry, but decidedly even gentler when he spoke to Morse. Morse gave him a small smile, and for a moment, they hovered on the edge of touch, each very much in the other’s personal space (as they kind of had to, since Peter’s bedroom wasn’t particularly big) but their eyes not quite meeting, unsaid words hanging in the air. Peter rolled his eyes and lifted a hand to rub at his face.

“Jim! For God’s sake, kiss the bastard”, Peter called out. “He’s been lonely all night. And I can’t get up right now to do it myself.”

Jim and Morse both looked at him, and Peter didn’t have the energy to ask what it was for. If they wanted to stare him down for stating the obvious, that was their problem. Morse raised an eyebrow.

“You won’t have to”, Morse said. “And Jim, honestly, I don’t want to force you to -”

“I don’t think Pete could force me to do anything right now if he tried to”, Jim said. “No offence, _ sarge_.”

“None taken”, Peter said, rolling over to better look at the two of them, considering a few different angles before settling on one he could see any incoming lip-locking clearly from, but wouldn’t have to move a muscle to keep it up. “Just do it, will you? We don’t have all night.”

Morse actually got up from the chair. Jim carefully leaned close to him, bending down a bit to reach him, and went for the kiss. Morse answered by grabbing Jim’s arms, his hold not terribly tight, but not exactly light, either. He was kissing back properly too, eyes closed and lips parted. It was both very frustrating and very _ hot_, Peter had to admit, and he could only admire the patience Morse had kept up throughout the night. He wasn’t sure he could’ve kept it in his pants for more than a minute, really, if it had been Morse letting someone have their way with him and making noise all through it while Peter watched.

It was over soon, with Jim slowly backing off, gently patting Morse on the shoulder before letting go of him. Morse would’ve probably staggered back, had there been any room, but to his credit, he actually stayed on his feet. Didn’t even fall back into the chair.

“Well”, Jim said, shoving his hands in his pockets, before realising he’d need at least one of them to reach for his coat as he left. He took them out again, and, realising he now didn’t have anything to do with his other hand, gave them an almost-wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Pete. Morse.”

Peter let out a snort at how commonplace it was all of a sudden, as if Jim hadn’t left him lying on his bed, sweaty and stark-naked. Jim glared at him for a second, but didn’t say anything.

“I’ll get the door for you”, Morse offered. Jim accepted it with a nod, and Peter watched as they left the room, Morse all flushed up and avoiding Jim’s eyes the best he could. They didn’t speak much, so Peter was left counting their footsteps, then listening to Morse open the door, then hearing some mumbled words before it snapped shut again. Morse probably stood there a while, most likely thinking very lewd thoughts, and Peter had to bite his tongue not to laugh at him or ask whether he’d started wanking it in there. The poor sod did deserve a break.

Peter had just sat up to stretch a little - there was a bone-deep ache on the backs of his thighs, even though he knew it wouldn’t properly set in until tomorrow - when Morse came back. He looked every bit as dishevelled as he had before, and Peter couldn’t help looking him over, belt all wonky and shirt rumpled. A very nice thing to look at, all in all, but Peter wasn’t happy with just looking.

“I got you some water”, Morse said, sitting down. On the bed, this time, and Peter seized the opportunity, not quite draping himself over Morse as he reached to take the cup from his hands, but not really trying to stay away, either. Morse scoffed at that, but Peter brushed his lips against Morse’s earlobe as a half-hearted apology, before leaning against him with a deep sigh.

“Better than whisky”, Peter said, tone pointed, before downing the water at once. “You should get some for yourself, too. It’s pretty hot in here.”

He took Morse by the wrist and pressed the cup into his hand. Morse pursed his lips, but Peter shook his head. He was being serious about it, for once.

“Right”, Morse said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Not that many places for me to go, are there”, Peter said, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “But don’t be long. I’d like to have a chat about that problem of yours.”

“What problem?” Morse asked, and probably regretted it the moment he’d got the words out of his mouth, because Peter made swift work of grabbing his belt and tugging it open, hand sliding down Morse’s stomach, before he finally wrapped his fingers around Morse’s cock. Peter half-considered sitting on the poor bastard’s thigh for good measure, but didn’t in the end - it would’ve been too much work to spread his legs enough right now.

“Now, mister”, Peter said, slowly moving his hand, lips at Morse’s ear once more. Morse had gone completely still, save for how shaky the breath he took next was, and he stared Peter down with wide eyes the best he could. His face was flushing up again, very pretty all over.

“It’s a very common one”, Peter said. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Happens to the best of blokes when they come across a good-looking bint. Or in some cases, a man, you sweet sod.”

It wasn’t very clever, and definitely not one of his smoothest approaches to the art of getting someone into bed, but Morse was already half-hard in his hand, so it had done the job. Peter drew his hand back up, putting it on Morse’s knee.

“Fuck you, Peter”, Morse managed to say, and by the look in his eyes, was just about an inch away of just shoving Peter down and kissing his lips raw. It was just what he was going for, and Peter didn’t bother to hold back his smile.

“Please”, Peter breathed out. “But do fetch the water first. Go on.”

Morse did, faster than probably anything else he’d done that night.


	4. Chapter 4

When Morse came back, his eyes were dark in the half-light of the room, and he didn't waste time in rolling his shirt-sleeves up - an easy task, since they were already hanging loose and open - and climbing into bed with Peter. Morse kept his distance, though, looking at him like he was having a hard time wrapping his poor little head around it.

“Like what you see?” Peter asked, inching closer, but not touching. Morse deserved to be teased a bit more still, if only because of how pretty he got when he flushed up.

“I had no idea you had such a thing for just looking at me. With the fags, sure, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t blink once while Jim was -”

“That’s not it”, Morse said, and before Peter knew it, he was being manhandled and pushed down on his back for the umpteenth time that night. Morse’s bony arms weren’t as deafeningly strong as Jim’s bigger ones had been, but Peter was no match for him, spent as he was. Especially when the fiery stare lighting up those blue eyes of Morse’s was just stunning.

Morse went straight for his throat, a kiss landing on Peter’s collarbone before he could even fully realise what was going on, and Morse then went up, practically burying his face in Peter’s neck and shoulder. It was very _ forward_, leaving Peter gasping, and it wasn’t until Morse pulled back a bit that he could properly catch some of his breath again.

“It’s not how you look”, Morse said, his warm breath on Peter’s skin as his hands slowly sneaked down his shoulders, to have him roll over on his side and press his back up against Morse’s chest and stomach (and his hard prick). “It’s the _ scent_, Peter. I couldn’t… Jesus. I haven’t been thinking straight for a while now.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t”, Peter said, realising that his face was on fire _ again_. He’d _ known _ that Morse was getting off on his shirt, alright, but he hadn’t realised Morse was in _ this _deep.

It probably shouldn’t have, after all the strain Peter had gone through that night already, but it left him aching with how much he wanted Morse.

Morse’s hands went down Peter’s back, considering, and then the touch was gone.

“I don’t want to hurt you”, Morse said, probably trying to get his own shirt off. “But you do know I’m going to fuck you now, right? And I’m not going to be gentle.”

Peter felt his cock jump, his whole bloody thighs throbbing as he thought about that for a bit too long. He had to press his mouth shut after he let out a sound that wasn’t unlike a coarse moan of _ yes_, but that only made things worse. Morse finally got the rest of his clothes off, even managing to slide his hand between Peter’s legs to cop a feel of his inner thigh as he was doing it.

“I was going to ask you to suck on my fingers”, Morse said, voice quiet and treacherously soft. “Now I’m starting to think you won’t need to do that.”

Peter drew in a shaky breath, trying to turn his head to look back at Morse and snap something at him, but Morse stopped him with a firm hand at the side of his neck. However, he didn’t hold still, instead stroking soft, oversensitive skin as if _ petting _Peter was all he cared about. Peter was pretty sure he’d blushed up to his ears again, and feeling Morse smile against the back of his neck as he leaned in for a kiss pretty much confirmed it.

“Tease”, Peter hissed. “Just get to it. I’m ready.”

“I should hope so”, Morse muttered, and then he was gripping Peter’s shoulders _ hard _and urging him to spread his legs a little and breaching him with one sharp thrust. Slipped right in, and Peter could only gasp at the feeling of being held and filled again, Morse’s hips and thighs flush against his behind.

“Oh, Christ”, Peter gasped out, as Morse started moving, true to his word about not going gentle. His fingers were digging into Peter’s skin, not painful but very _ apparent_, and the burning tension in Peter’s thighs didn’t exactly help him relax into such a determined embrace. It was a back-and-forth, of him trying to both relax and tense up at the same time to feel even _ more_, but Morse wasn’t having it.

“Just let me take care of you”, Morse whispered, pressing his nose against the back of Peter’s neck, his breathing quick and his lips warm. “I’ve been harsh on you. There just might be something special about werewolves in bed. I just can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Peter laughed, even though the next thrust took his breath away again, leaving him choking on it for a second before he leaned back to turn his head as much as he could. He couldn’t really manage a proper glare, since he was much too busy being shagged, but he quirked an eyebrow nonetheless.

“Morse, you _ slut_”, Peter said. “You would’ve let Jim bugger you on my perfectly decent settee. I knew there was something about how long fetching that sodding water took you. You could’ve been having a wank thinking about him, for all I know.”

Morse didn’t stop, but his grip tightened for a moment, which left Peter smirking. Served him right, honestly, for being such a clueless blue-eyed sweetheart about how easy he was to read sometimes. His face was very red again, although Peter wasn’t sure if it had been anything _ but _for the past hour or so, and he was looking back at Peter with dark eyes.

“Maybe”, Morse said. “But it’s not a given. It’s equally as likely for me to have been thinking about your dirty little mouth.”

Peter surged forward, although the position was getting rather impractical, and Morse’s face clashed against his, their lips meeting in a hungry kiss. Morse bit him, not too gentle, and that was just about the last straw for them both.

“_Please_”, Peter said, turning away again and pressing back against Morse, even though he was already so close that it hurt. His lips felt sore and swollen, and his heart was well on its way to hammering its way out of his chest, and Morse’s hands were heavy on him. “I’m all yours.”

“You’d do well to remember that”, Morse muttered, and then he was driving his hips deep again, drawing a stuttering moan out of Peter. Peter grabbed the sheet for leverage, not caring about possibly pulling it off as his bed was already well beyond any normal state of decency, and threw his head back to let Morse press his nose and mouth against his neck and kiss him _ hard_.

Eventually, it wasn’t just kisses, but some honest-to-God _ bites_, Morse’s lips soft and soothing after the iron scrape of his teeth _ almost breaking skin_. One or two probably did leave something that was more of a bruise than a love-bite, but it didn’t feel any less sweet, especially since Morse’s pace grew more frantic every time Peter made noise.

And then Morse stilled, gasping against Peter’s skin, and if that wasn’t a clear enough sign of him having got off, the soft ‘_I love you_’ definitely was. It left Peter feeling all warm and fuzzy, even after everything he’d been through that night, and he counted that as a win, even though there was pretty much no chance he was getting off a second time that night. Physically very near impossible, not to mention the fact that Morse was probably going to fall asleep on him in about three minutes or so.

“Morse”, Peter said, even though he was reluctant to have Morse take his soft, tired hands off him. But they sort of needed to clean up. “We’ve got to work tomorrow.”

Morse let out a huff, pressing one more kiss on the back of Peter’s neck before pulling out. He gave Peter’s arse a light smack before rolling over, and as Peter turned as well, his eyes were wide at Morse’s sudden raciness.

“I know”, Morse said, but did nothing about it, instead just reaching for Peter to try and tame his wild-gone hair a bit. It didn’t work, as the pomade was still somewhat doing its sticky job even with how much Peter had sweated (and had his hair pulled on) that night, but Peter appreciated the gesture. He still grabbed Morse’s wrist, to bring his hand to his lips.

“I haven’t got to kiss you enough”, Peter explained, lips not yet touching skin, but knowing that Morse could feel his breath against his fingers. “And I’ve a feel you’ll appreciate it more before I have my last evening fag.”

Morse _ did _ prefer that, as Peter soon found out, and didn’t terribly mind kissing him back either when they lay there for just long enough to not actually fall asleep in a state of blissful chaos. He let out a somewhat offended grunt when Peter sucked a love-bite into his wrist, but was reassured enough when Peter told him that his shirtsleeves would be very much long enough to cover it up. After all, it was only _ fair_.


	5. Chapter 5

Morning light fell on Peter’s eyes as heavy and all too bright, accompanied by the whistle of the tea kettle and soft steps pacing around the kitchen. The bedroom door was ajar, and he felt a bit cold. Morse had already got up, then, and apparently Peter had kicked the blanket almost entirely off himself, because he was _ shivering_. It made sense - it was late Autumn, after all, and he probably should’ve put on a jumper for the night instead of going for vest and boxer briefs only. Good that he was going to get to wrap himself up in several layers of coats before going out that day.

Peter tried to push himself up, felt his aching arms and thighs betray him, and fell back on the bed with a yelp. The sharp twinge quickly spread down his lower back and all the way down to his _ ankles_. He had to close his eyes and take a deep breath before trying to assess the situation further.

Nothing was broken, but he still felt like he’d gone and ran a bloody half-marathon last night. He tried to get up again, a little more slowly, and eventually managed to sit up, rub at his eyes and look at the clock. The constant ticking calmed his confused nerves somewhat, and so did the sound of toast popping out in the kitchen.

It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet, which meant they had a lot of time. Morse wasn’t arranged to pick Thursday up that day, since he was working such a late shift, and Peter had reached an agreement with the higher-ups on letting him clock in mid-morning as well. He wanted to keep an eye on Morse every once in a while, make sure he didn’t get into too much trouble running his mouth, even though Peter did _ know _he was sometimes almost capable of getting through a shift by himself without getting into a terrible scrape.

Morse was sitting at the kitchen table in his pyjamas, looking up from the morning paper the moment he saw Peter limp through the bedroom door. Alright, maybe it wasn’t an outright _ limp_, but his walk certainly wasn’t what it used to be. Peter wanted to let Morse know how he was - achy, tired and in no way capable of making himself a cup of tea.

“Good morning”, Morse said, smiling at him a tad too smugly. Peter blinked a couple of times, before finally managing to get his brain working enough to speak.

“Is that all you’re eating?” Peter asked, frowning a bit at the half-eaten piece of toast that Morse had on his plate. “At least put some cheese on it. Or I could cook you an egg, if you -”

“I’m fine”, Morse said. “The water’s still hot. Do pour yourself a cup of tea if you’d like.”

“It’s my kitchen”, Peter grumbled, but went to get the kettle anyway, taking his favourite cup - the one that had survived a nasty fall unchipped - out of the cupboard before starting to ponder over how strong he needed it that morning.

He set the full cup on the table, but before he had the chance to sit down and ask Morse whether there was anything on the paper about the arson case, Morse stood up and took his hand. Peter drew in a breath in surprise, but smiled at the way Morse leaned close and let his lips brush Peter’s cheek, before resting his chin on Peter’s shoulder.

“And what’s this for, doll?” Peter asked, more pleased with the way Morse was wrapping his arms around him than he let on. It was a very warm hug, and it made being out of bed much more tolerable, as the heating in his flat really wasn’t nice enough to be walking around barefoot so late in the year.

“Come look in the mirror”, Morse said, and as he gently nudged Peter forward without really letting go of him, it was hard to say no.

The full-length mirror he had by the door was really a necessity, seeing as Peter had been forced to deal with some last-minute hair emergencies in the past. Morse kept saying nobody would notice, but Peter _ knew _ that overlooking a hair or two sticking out of place in the morning could very well lead to other things being amiss, until the whole situation got out of hand. It was better to prepare properly before going out the door.

After Morse had led him in front of the mirror, Peter couldn’t but stare at his reflection in shock for a second. He almost didn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Bloody hell”, Peter said, and lifted a hand to try touching the angriest one of several bite-marks, this one just below his collarbone. “I didn’t - _ there’s a lot_, Morse.”

“I know”, Morse said, voice low against his ear. “I’m not sure which of them are mine, though. And I don’t think you’d remember either.”

Some of the bruises were so dark that Peter was pretty sure they had gone through skin properly, not just some light marks that teenagers might leave on each other in good fun, but quite literal love-bites. He didn’t mind getting kissed up and having memories to show for it - that’s why he liked girls wearing lipstick, too - but he did have _ some _worries, when he realised just what he’d been up to last night.

“Am I going to… you know”, Peter said. “Do you think I’ll start sprouting fur in two weeks?”

He didn’t particularly like the possibility. Not that there was anything wrong with werewolves, he just wasn’t very fond of the idea of growing like twenty extra teeth and things getting all blurry whenever the moon got too big and glowy.

“Because of _ human _bites?” Morse asked, and Peter answered with a breathless nod. “Peter, love, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not”, Peter protested. “I just… thought of it. Good to know.”

“You wanted this”, Morse said, letting go of Peter, but apparently it was only so he could get around him and lean down to press an extremely frustrating light kiss against a particularly sore spot on Peter’s neck. “As I seem to recall.”

“I _ did _ ”, Peter said, just about able to get the words out before his voice was drowned out by his sharp gasp. He was really trying not to think of last night too hard, because he _ knew _ it was going to bother him all day if he did, and Morse had really put his foot down on not screwing around in the car because apparently it _ wasn’t common courtesy_. That seemed like a stupid rule, but Peter knew he couldn’t fight it, and if he had to sit another day with his hands in his pockets he was going to -

“Oh, Christ. I’m just - there’s never been _ this many_”, Peter blurted out, as Morse went for the next mark he found on Peter’s chest, just breathing against Peter’s skin for a while before honest-to-God licking it.

“You've got some on your shoulders too, but don’t worry about it”, Morse said. “I’m sure none will show after you put a shirt on.”

They did manage to get back to the breakfast table surprisingly quickly, and even though the tea was lukewarm by that time, Peter drank it in one go just to show Morse he could. He fixed himself a quick snack, too - unlike with Morse, dry toast wasn’t going to cut it for him - and managed to control his tongue enough to let them both finish their breakfast without a wrestle, a snog, or any mixture thereof.


	6. Epilogue

The station was already up and working when they arrived - not that there was usually any particular _ morning rush_, but there were more people about, since many weren’t going out on inquiries until after lunch. Morse told him it didn’t really matter whether they walked in together or not, since it wasn’t unusual for two detectives living in the same general direction (and starting their shift at the same time) to get in at the same time.

Even with the hallways busy, it was hard to miss Jim. Peter tried not to have their eyes meet, but it was useless - Morse was too bloody nice to people when he started to care about them, so of course he smiled at Jim the moment they spotted each other. Peter couldn’t exactly sulk and stare at the floor, because he would’ve ended up crashing into some poor young PC if he didn’t watch where he was going - although he would’ve liked the chance to take the piss at one at least a little.

“Morning, matey”, Jim said as they passed him in the hallway. Jim ignored the way Morse smirked at him as he nodded in answer, although Jim did also look like he was trying not to roll his eyes. “Jakes.”

What Peter would’ve _ wanted _ to do was to brush it off gracefully, without caring too much, and just acknowledged Jim’s presence somehow (but _ not overtly_) and been on his way. What Peter did instead was staring at Jim’s face a little too long, then looking at his _ hands_, and proceeding to both walk and stop at the same time and therefore tripping on his own feet.

Jim caught him, because _ of course _ he did. Being held up by those arms with Morse and at least a couple of others staring didn’t do anything to make him less embarrassed.

“Careful, there”, Jim said. “You alright?”

“Yes”, Peter snapped. “Good morning, constable. You can let me up now.”

Jim did, and when Peter had managed to scramble onto his feet again and got Morse to stop snickering, he made the mistake of looking back at Jim as he and Morse walked away. The bastard was smirking, and it was hard to claim Peter wouldn’t have done so, had he been in Strange’s boots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, I've been working on this project from July, and only just finished it today - and therefore rushed to immediately post it XD I'm really satisfied with the end result, and I hope you like this too!
> 
> As with all works, comments are appreciated <3 There's going to be a little follow-up fic too, which I'm going to post right after this one you can read it by clicking the series link below.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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